


A Gal on the Lam

by CavannaRose



Category: Original Work
Genre: Burglary, Gen, Mild Language, Shoplifting, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:26:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6398524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adventures of a young woman on the wrong side of the law.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When she gave her name, which wasn't often, she went by Dania these days. It wasn't her name, but that didn't really matter. She had nothing on her person to identify her, nothing at the rundown old flat she was squatting in either. It was better that way. Keep it neat, clean, untraceable. At least it better be untraceable for what she was paying the tyrant of a landlord. The place was a shitehole, but they didn't ask too many questions. She snorted, leaning down to pick up yet another empty mousetrap. She needed a score... a good one. Enough cash to get her on the Eurorail and on to the next cesspit. Huffing she reset the trap, placing it back in the corner. Even the vermin around here were smarter than the majority of the tenants. More trustworthy too. Regardless, she wanted to eat tonight so she'd better be on her way.   
  
She tied her hair into a loose ponytail, slid into a baggy jacket and hit the street. Walking briskly, but not rushing. For all the world she looked like the rest of them, on her way to some destination or other, unconcerned about anything else. Oh but she was concerned. Ever observant she weighed each person her casually drifting gaze set upon until she acquired her target. Stumbling as she passed the gentleman, she lightly bumped into him. An insincere apology escaped her lips, and she gave him the barest acknowledgement before she was off again... back on track of that all important destination. A few corners later she pulled the wallet out of her pocket. Please let the tosser carry Euros. Thank the fucking Lord.

It was cold enough outside today that she could see her breath on the air. Dania blew into her chapped hands, trying to regain the feeling in the tips of her fingers, though it was proving rather futile at the moment. She really needed to nick a new pair of gloves, she'd lost hers and a pickpocket with stiff hands was a pickpocket that got caught. She couldn't afford attracting anymore notice.   
  
Stomping her feet, wiggling her toes within the soaked, ratty sneakers she was wearing, the brunette eyed the line of shops nearby. She could just pop into one and warm up a bit... then she'd be on her way. She was staying in the neighbourhood, so there was no way she could lift anything here. No sense in pissing where you slept and all that rot. The shop door chimed cheerily as she pushed in, yet another deterrent for the cautious thief. Never nab anything where you drew notice. That got you remembered, that got you caught. She'd survived on wits alone this long because she was careful, and she wasn't going to let something as simple as cold make her less so.   
  
She smiled and waved at the cashier, stopping when she noticed how cramped and red her fingers looked. Much more of that and she'd end up with bloody frostbite, no chance she'd be able to earn her living then. Mayhap she really should just head back to where she was squatting once she'd warmed up a mite. Not that it was that much warmer there, but it was out of the wind and she had extra blankets and suchnot.   
  
Maybe she'd even swing by the recycling place and see if there were any newspapers left outside again. At least she'd be able to light a small fire for the coldest part of the afternoon that way. She'd have to go roofwalking for a few essentials tonight, to make up for the complete lack of action during the day, but them were the breaks.   
  
After half an hour she could move her fingers normally again, and the once pleasant teller was starting to eye her suspiciously. With another friendly wave she exited, aiming her feet to the recycling plant. Chances were she'd be shite out of luck, but one never knew.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dania had never had far to fall when she started her life of crime. Her father was a grifter and her mom had died of some drug overdose or another. Nothing particularly special or unique about her sob story, hell, at least dear old Dad had stuck around. Still, she'd tried to escape her upbringing, fleeing to the Unites States in her early twenties. However, she hadn't found life there any easier, and had quickly fallen in with the wrong crowd.   
  
The fella she took up with was more violent than her father had been, his crew relying more on the smash and grab than the light fingered lifting lay. They called it mugging here, often using Dania's waifish looks to lure in the unsuspecting victims.  
  
Then one night it all went horribly wrong. The gang had progressed to burglary, breaking into houses while the owners were away on vacation and the like. It made Dania nervous, but not as nervous as the gun their boss insisted she carry. She was working her first solo job, and on that fateful night the owner had made the bad decision to return home early with his wife.   
  
He'd come across a twitchy Dania. The girl had just entered the house, hadn't even stolen anything yet, but he'd startled her, and she didn't know enough about guns to have the safety on. The gun went off, blowing a hole in the man's head, bits of brain everywhere. She'd been terrified, horrified even, and the wife just. kept. screaming. Daina'd barely known what she was doing when she raised the gun a second time, silencing the woman for good.   
  
She'd fled the scene, the only evidence a partial fingerprint on the front door handle. Hell, Dania had fled the whole damn country. There were no records for them to match the print to, and eventually the case was filed away unsolved. 


	3. Chapter 3

Of all the things that a body could be picked up for, Dania had gotten nabbed for being in the wrong place and the wrong time. None of her pick pocketing or burglaries had ended up with her being fingerprinted, but today... Today that was about to change. She'd taken a wrong turn on her way back to the crummy flat she was staying in, and landed in the middle of a wage-gap protest. Just her luck the bobbies had come along right then to escort everyone to lockup.  
  
Dania sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, trying to explain to the idiot in charge that she was not a protester, and that her rights were being violated, but he wasn't listening. Most of the crowd were boho-clad nouveau hippies, and her own raggedy appearance fit in rather well. With a huff she let herself be printed, but she protested high and shrill until they released her, not having any evidence to hold her overnight, and the place was already at capacity.

Leaving the London precinct in a fit of irritation, Dania moved quickly through the streets and back towards her contact on the east end. Enough was enough, and she was getting out of here. England was just one long drag of misery, she wanted to go somewhere warmer. Tossing the ID that she was currently using on the lowlife's desk, she raised an eyebrow. "I need a new identity, something that'll get me overseas, maybe with a work visa. I'm sick of this dump."  
  
With a leer the repulsive leech looked over her papers, one greasy hand held out for his payment. With a shudder, she paid up, glad that he wasn't the enterprising type. Out of all the forgers in town, he was the best, but damn did he wig her out. Such a gross excuse for a human being.  
  
Twenty four hours later, new identity safely stowed in her carry on, Dania was flying back to the Americas. Somewhere warm this time. She had enough rain and cold to last the rest of her life.


	4. Chapter 4

Los Angeles, City of Angels. It was amazing the lies these Yanks told themselves. City of Filth and Disease would be a better label. The beautiful people with their fake tans and faker faces treading on the back of some of the most miserable folks Dania had ever seen. The lost, the downtrodden. Los Angeles ran on failed dreams, and she was just another example of that. She'd had big dreams, coming to America, dreams of how her life could be different. It was all for nothing, though, what a bloody surprise.  
  
In less than a week she was back to her old tricks, relying on her light fingers and the transient tourist population to keep her pickpocketing mostly unnoticed. She could barely afford a shitehole of an apartment in the worst part of the city, and she was fairly certain her landlord was a pedophile, but that wasn't her business. The only perk was that she could cut through Monterey Park on her way home. The green space was unlike anything she'd ever seen back home.   
  
She was there now, strolling down the paths as dusk fell. She'd heard the rumours, and knew that parks in big cities were no place for a gal alone at night, but she still had time yet. Dania enjoyed the play of fading light along the treetops as she meandered along. Just because she was a drifter and a thief didn't mean she couldn't pause and enjoy the natural beauty of the world. Finally it got dark enough to set off her internal alarm bells, and turning her collar up, the Brit hustled to the park entrance.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Perhaps this was a city where women weren't accustomed to stalking the streets alone. As she made her way home, the looks she received from her fellow night travelers, all of them male, were heavy with intent. Still, Dania remained immune to the uneasiness she was certain they were attempting to cause. Certainly she had the same concerns as anyone, particularly a slim whip of a lady thief, but with a past such as her own, what were a few foolish thugs in comparison? She'd likely seen rougher trade than any number of them, and with the visions of a bloody past haunting her nightmares, there was little they could do to phase her British calm.

She'd planned tonight's job with more care than usual, the continuous grind of the lifting lay having long since lost it's appeal. Dania was weary of it all, right down to the marrow of her bones. All the brunette needed was one windfall, a reasonable score to set her up with a few day's buffer so she could relax and let out some tension. Was it too much to ask for, a few days to herself? Even the bag boy down at the horrifically named Piggly Wiggly only had to work alternating Sundays. If his hours were better than the ones she was keeping, what even was the point of the endeavor?

There it was, the aforementioned grocery store she'd been scoping out for several weeks. She knew much of the staff, their routines and quirks. Not many had noticed her, another faceless grey blob in the constant stream of consumerism that bombarded the underpaid grunts on a daily basis. The night stock boy, an aging man who went by the uninspiring moniker of 'Jimbo', was a chronic smoker, with a rather convenient habit of leaving the rear door propped open while he filled his lungs with poison.

Dania slipped in through the door, careful not to disturb Jimbo's wooden prop. She hadn't the time or inclination to learn the alarm codes for a small time gig like this one. The chain market shop wasn't going to have that much cash on hand, not like the larger big box options such as the garish blue and yellow Walmart monoliths. Why was everything stateside so bloody tacky? Couldn't they manage the class and decorum of a true bastion of the industry like Woolworth's? Whatever, their shoddy attention to detail was her payday, so who was she to complain?

Keeping a weather eye out for cameras, beyond the two glaringly obvious and rather stationary monstrosities holding sway over the rear entrance, the thief slipped through the stockroom, curious gaze flickering over the towers of product piled haphazardly around the area. With organizational skills such as were being demonstrated, it was a bloody miracle anything made it to the show floor for sale. Tucked away in the back corner, a narrow path between half-empty pallets leading towards it, was a door neatly marked Cash Office. Honestly they made this so easy, they deserved to be robbed.

The Brit knelt on the ground, pulling her tools from her back pocket and slowly sliding them through the lock on the door. The cheap tumblers clicked far quicker than she expected, the red painted door sliding open with a low squeal. She froze, breath catching in her chest, waiting for the heavy plod of Jimbo's tread to move in her direction, but the aisles of stock remained silent. Ghosting the barest hint of a laugh across her lips, she stood, carefully closing the door behind her and pulling out a flashlight.

Chain stores with a staff as large as this one boasted often kept the safe combination written down somewhere nearby, ease of access required for the teenage fluffbrains they hired to mind their registers on evening and weekends when adults without the money to head to post secondary education remembered they were still human beings and refused to slog through the miasma of human filth that frequented these establishments any later than necessary.

Finally she located the set of numbers, spinning the dial and revealing the rather pathetic treasures within. She'd be going home with less than ten thousand in her pockets, almost a third of that in dollar bills and rolled quarters, but it was better than she'd made in the last two weeks so beggars certainly couldn't be choosers. Cramming as much into her pockets as possible, she slunk back towards the exit, finally spotting the dull figure of Jimbo hauling skids of water bottles out to the main area with a pallet truck. That bullet dodged, she headed back out into the dark street. Now she just had to avoid getting mugged as she made her way home with all this bloody money.


	6. Chapter 6

She could hear them behind her. The heavy treads of their work boots made it plain that whomever they were, they cared little for any notice they might attract. That... well that was a bad sign for Dania. Too many of the rough and tough tossers that roamed the streets of this hellish city at night didn't much care if you saw them, simply since they never intended to leave you alive when they were through. The brunette shuddered, one hand nervously patting the the lump in her jacket where the stolen cash was stashed. Sure it wasn't a big haul, but it was more than enough to make it worth her death to a couple of common street crooks. Worse, she didn't even have a weapon to defend herself with.  
  
The British pickpocket was already rethinking her relocation to the balmy City of Angels. She had thought herself ready to roll with the big boys, but had only found herself floundering, completely out of her depth. Perhaps it was her big, brown doe eyes that got her into so many scrapes. Back home when she was working the lifting lay, they finagled her way out of more than a few tight spots with the inherent innocence in them, but in this city, at this time of night, they marked her as a victim waiting to happen.  
  
She flickered her gaze about, weighing her various avenues of escape. The most important thing was not to let her pursuers herd her anywhere. If she let them choose where they all ended up, she was as good as dead. Just as the footsteps got dangerously close, close enough that Dania was going to have to acknowledge them, headlights lit the street as a car turned the corner. The well of relief inside her was almost overwhelming. Even better than the headlights, which caused the steps behind her to slow dramatically, was the lightbox on the roof of the car... no, not car... taxi.   
  
Someone was clearly looking out for Dania tonight. She stepped out into the street, praising whatever gods looked out for second rate crooks in over their head, flagging down the cab. As it pulled up and she opened the door, the Brit turned and gave her pursuers a triumphant grin, sliding into the taxi and locking the door behind her.

 


	7. Chapter 7

The heat in LA was getting too much. She had no connections there, and her documents just weren't pulling their weight. What she needed was a brief trip up to the Big Apple to straighten things out. 

Finding old friends in a city as big as New York wasn't the easiest, but her British papers would only take her so far, especially if she was hoping to locate some legitimate employment. Moving through the city streets as best as she could, she followed half remembered trails to old hang outs. None of the faces there were familiar, but her luck held out and she got a lead on her old buddy.

A few hours later she was leaning against the counter of a pawn shop, clearing her throat. The fella behind the counter, a big dude with three teardrop tattoos under his left eye, blinked at her, his face breaking out into a wide smile. "While as I live and breathe, if it ain't little D, back in my neck of the woods. What happened to you girl, we all thought you got pinched when you didn't come back, but nothing ever hit the news."

She hiked herself up on the counter and placed a kiss on the cheek he offered her. "It got too hot for me here, Louis. I headed home for a few, but I'm back and need some paperwork upgraded. Gonna find me a real job down in LA. Watch the beautiful people and disappear for awhile. Think you can hook me up, for old times' sake?"

The big man frowned, shaking his head. "Come on now, girl. Word gets round I'm dishing up something for nothing, what'll happen to my reputation? You're a pretty thing, always were, but that won't hold. Besides, old Rufus was mighty hurt when you skedaddled, won't make me any friends if he finds out you came my way and didn't say boo by him. You hear me?"

Dania rubbed her forehead. Her old boyfriend was exactly the kind of trouble she didn't want to get mixed up in. Still, Louis was the only one she knew who might possibly do what she wanted, otherwise she'd be starting from scratch. She swung her legs over the counter, tugging Louis in gently by the front of his shirt and stroked his cheek. "Oh come on now, big guy. Surely they can't tag you for doing an old friend a favour. You do this for me, and I promise I'll swing by Rufus, tell him you insisted and everything."

"Well... I don't know..." She could see he was wavering, his eyes drifting from her face to her cleavage. Louis had always been a soft sell. She gave him another small kiss on the cheek.

"You're an angel, Louis. Gimme Rufus' location, I'll pop by and settle with the old man, and by the time I get back you can have those papers ready for me. Can't you?" The man was lost and he knew it. With a groan he nodded and scribbled out Dania's old boyfriend's new address on a scrap of paper, sending her on her way with a rueful chuckle. He knew he'd been had, but what can a guy do when faced with a ghost from the past?


End file.
